


sex and power in modern america

by androgynousmikewheeler



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Kink Negotiation, Multi, Other, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29486610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgynousmikewheeler/pseuds/androgynousmikewheeler
Summary: When his current dom recommends another's services, Jeff Winger is less than amused. But when he meets the man she suggested, he might just reconsider.
Relationships: Abed Nadir/Jeff Winger, Britta Perry & Jeff Winger, Frankie Dart & Jeff Winger
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Class Period 1: Introductions

Jeff checks his watch for the seventy-eighth time. Thirteen seconds have passed since the last time he looked. The parking lot lights have switched on and the last vestiges of sunlight are fading, and he's still eleven minutes early for dinner. He pulls open the mirror in his sun visor, runs his fingers through his excessively gelled hair, and adjusts his neatly pressed collar. 

He watches the elegant wooden and brass doors of the restaurant, trying to judge which of the slowly trickling newcomers is the man he's meeting with tonight. One is too short. The next too blond. The third herding several children. 

Or maybe he's making too many judgements and he's already seen and dismissed this Abed Nadir. Or maybe this is all some elaborate way for Britta to drop him as a client. Maybe she really _doesn't_ like him.

He should still be at home. His trademark is being five minutes late, _especially_ for things he doesn't care about, and here he is in a dusky parking lot in a three piece suit, and he _doesn't_ care _._

He checks his watch one more time. Ten minutes to go. He rolls his eyes at the idiotic racing of his pulse and slides out of his Lexus. He'll just grab a drink, shake a little of the anxiety off. He tucks his wallet into his pocket, smooths the lines of his jacket, and double checks that his car is locked. His mind dials up the cool intro music to tune out the nervous rambling of his inner monologue. 

As he swings open the restaurant door, the air conditioning rushes out to greet him. He breathes in the room's low din and strolls towards the bar. 

"Give me the nicest scotch you've got," he says to the bartender, a broad man with a kind smile, "with just a drop of spring water." 

He leans his back against the mahogany bar, surveying the busy restaurant. A brunette woman meets his eye from a booth and smiles at him. He gives her a slight wave and a grin.

The bartender sets down his whiskey with a clink. Jeff turns, nods in thanks, and takes a sip, smooth and strong.

"I'll have a Director tonight, Neil," a voice says from beside him, low and smoky. Jeff looks up to see a slim, dark-haired man with warm brown skin and a finely tailored suit. His long fingers tap against the counter as he drags his eyes towards Jeff and fixes him with a long, thoughtful look. 

"Jeffrey Winger, I presume," the man drawls, lip curving into a slight smile.

Jeff blinks, mind oddly blank. "Um, yeah. That's– how'd you know?"

"Miss Perry said the man I'm meeting tonight is, in her words, 'almost ridiculously tall.'" He sticks out a neatly manicured hand. "Abed Nadir."

He takes it, Nadir's grip firm as his eyes remain studiously on Jeff. Without breaking eye contact, he breaks the handshake to take his cocktail as it's set down and hold it out. "To a life of pleasure," he toasts.

Jeff grabs his own drink and taps their glasses together, desperately trying to rediscover his speaking abilities. "To pleasure for pleasure's sake and nothing else's," he says, each word a challenge. 

Nadir raises an eyebrow at that, a spark igniting behind his eyes. "Miss Perry warned me that you had quite the tongue. I think I'll enjoy that." 

His eyes flick into the distance. Jeff's follow them to the gesture of a waitress. "I believe our table is ready. Shall we?"

He waves Jeff forwards, following the waitress through the restaurant to a secluded table. 

"May I take your jacket?" he asks as they reach their seats, and Jeff has already pressed the fabric into his hands before he questions handing it off, as prized as it is expensive.

But Nadir folds it neatly beside his own, a deep emerald with glittering silver pinstripes, somehow both refined and bold. He pulls Jeff's chair out for him, and Jeff sits, speechless in a most unprecedented way. 

Jeff pulls himself up to the table, some scrabbling attempt to prove he's not completely enthralled.

Nadir's face reveals nothing as he takes his own seat, swirling his mysterious near black drink without a care. "So tell me, Mr. Winger," he peruses the menu, "what is your opinion of seafish? They serve an excellent seared salmon."

"More of a steak man, myself."

Nadir nods, studying him like a particularly fascinating experiment. "Fitting."

Jeff takes another sip of his whiskey, not sure what else to do with his hands, every inch of him itching with the overwhelming sensation of being seen. The burn of the liquor sets his shoulders, and he matches the intensity of the man's eyes.

"Seems like you spend as much time psychoanalyzing people as Britta does. Though I can't say I trust her conclusions to be terribly accurate."

Nadir leans forward, watching over his steepled fingers. "And why is that?"

Jeff shrugs, gestures around them. "She thinks I'd be better off going to you."

"You disagree."

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not..." He trails off meaningfully, but the man opposite just waits for him to finish. "You know."

"I don't."

"I'm not _gay,_ " he mutters. 

Nadir hums. "Ah. If that's the case, why did you agree to meet with me?"

He opens his mouth to answer when Nadir holds up a hand, halting him. A waiter appears from over his shoulder.

"Good evening, Pavel. We'll have the crostini with brie to start, and then the salmon for myself and the filet mignon for my companion. Rare, on that." He cocks his head as the waiter copies all this onto a notepad. "Oh, and a glass of the '72 Cabernet, please. Does that suit you, Mr. Winger?" Jeff nods. "Thank you." Pavel bustles off. 

The respite is over as quickly as it began. "Mr. Winger," Nadir repeats, "my question?"

"I– Britta can be really persistent."

"I find it hard to believe that you're so easily persuaded. You strike me as a man who does what he needs to get what he wants. Would you disagree?"

Jeff shakes his head.

"So, what do you want from tonight?" The depths of his brown eyes burn with something Jeff thinks may be excitement.

He feels the regret before the words even tumble out. "I'm curious."

"So, perhaps Miss Perry was right."

He studies Nadir's face for any hint of smugness, but he remains pleasantly neutral.

"Perhaps there was a kernel of truth amongst her general inaccuracy."

He leans forward, swirls his straw. "How can I satisfy you?"

Jeff blinks, gulps. "That was forward."

Nadir's fingers tap a quiet rhythm against the table. "Your curiosity, Mr. Winger. You did say you were curious."

Jeff tries to laugh off his obvious embarrassment. "You're right, I did. I– what's so different?" Well, besides the tall, slender frame, the endlessly attentive eyes, the comfortable authority, the high refined features... Jeff doesn't mention any of those. "Why does Britta think it's so important that I come to you?"

Nadir hums. "Well, I've no firsthand experience of Miss Perry's methods, but I've been told I can be..." Nadir's smile is infuriatingly composed, "firmer. A steadier hand, if you will."

Jeff swallows, watching Nadir tap his fingers on the wood, and tries not to imagine what they might feel like against his skin.

Nadir quirks an eyebrow. "And, of course, there are the anatomical differences."

Jeff chokes.

"Though I do believe you'd have to be kneeling for me to have any height on you." He gives a performative shrug. "But, of course, that can be arranged."

All the blood has left Jeff's brain. Stringing together words seems like a struggle. "Is that–" His voice cracks. He clears his throat and tries again. "Do you often have clients on their knees?"

"Among other positions."

Jeff tries to remind himself that he does not, in fact, plan on accepting Nadir's offer, but his reasoning seems increasingly flimsy when confronted by the debonair man before him.

Besides, it's the twenty-first century. Sexuality is fluid, right?

"I'd like to schedule a session with you," he says in a moment of surety, and then his stomach drops. "And then," he weasels back a bit, "we can see how it goes."

Nadir leans forward with a fox-like smile. "Excellent."


	2. Office Hours with Francesca Dart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeff weighs his options. Frankie indulges in gossip.

"I'm confused," Frankie interrupts Jeff's recounting of the evening's events, "You said you'd decided _against_ scheduling another session."

Jeff glares at her across the cafe table. "I changed my mind, Frankie! It's called reacting to outside stimuli. We don't even count as living things if we can't react to outside stimuli. Are you suggesting I'm no longer even alive?"

Frankie types something on her laptop, focused on work as ever. The screen doesn't manage to hide her smirk. "Would the outside stimuli in question be Mr. Nadir's looks? Or his voice, which you described with a truly uncomfortable attention to detail?"

"You're a terrible friend."

She looks up from her computer with haughty amusement. "We're coworkers. Fairly new coworkers."

"Who are at lunch! Stop doing work."

Frankie closes her computer. "I figured since I wasn't going to enjoy my lunch break, I may as well do something productive. Someone at this office has to. But apparently that won't be happening either, because we're discussing your," her lip curls in distaste, "personal life."

"Oh, because you _never_ talk about your personal life."

"Name one fact about me that doesn't pertain to work."

Jeff thinks for a long moment. "Okay, point taken."

Frankie hums. "Meanwhile, I know that your former dominatrix has issues with authority and two half blind cats." She sighs. "And yet, some part of me enjoys watching you made bad decisions. Like a train wreck, I suppose. Continue."

Jeff flips her off. "I don't think I like that description, but thanks. Anyway, I don't know what to do."

Frankie rolls her eyes. "Clearly. When is your session scheduled?"

"Friday. In ninety-eight hours and," he checks his watch, "forty-seven minutes."

Frankie takes a bite of her salad, chews thoroughly, swallows, and says, "Ah. Very normal of you to know that with such specificity."

"You kinda suck. You know that?"

"I do, yes. So, are you going to have sex with him or not?"

Jeff chokes on his chicken. "Frankie!"

"Don't tell me you wanted to dance around the obvious question for the rest of our lunch break. I thought you were a better orator than that."

"I mean, you don't have to say it so... abruptly. Jeez."

Her disappointed stare is withering. "You're either accepting his services or not. Which you choose is completely irrelevant to my life, but your indecision is wasting my time."

"You really don't do gossip, huh?"

"No." She grits her teeth, curiosity overcoming her. "So, ignoring the debate of your sexuality that you've not so subtly laced through this whole conversation, do you _want_ to have sex with him?"

"Yes," Jeff breathes, far too quickly. 

"Well, that settles it." She aligns her fork and knife neatly on her empty plate and opens her laptop. "Now, what are your thoughts on the Dunley settlement?"

Jeff bangs his head on the table. "You suck."

"I know."

**Author's Note:**

> expect an update somewhere between next week, two years from now, and never. sorry in advance.


End file.
